Nowhere Man
by erieva
Summary: On his way to Gravity Falls, Fiddleford McGucket picks up a hitchhiker.


Fiddleford McGucket considered himself to be a cautious man, but kindness sometimes overtook caution and launched it out a window. Example A: the man currently sitting in the back of his car.

"Ummm… so where are you headed?" Fiddleford glanced nervously in his rear view mirror. The hitchhikerwas broad-shouldered and hunched over, and Fiddleford could make out locks of brown hair hanging out from under the hood of his jacket.

"As far as you're willin' to take me," came the gruff response, in a voice that suited the hitchhiker well. Fiddleford could tell from a glance that the hitchhiker was homeless; his burgundy jacket was in tatters and he held himself as though life was pressing on him too much for him to stand up straight. He had signalled half-heartedly, almost an acceptance of defeat. Likely, no one had spared him a second glance, invisible in his obvious state, as most homeless people are.

Fiddleford himself wasn't one to often pick up hitchhikers, much less ones that could easily overpower him, but as he drove, his mind wandered to all those he passed over without offering help, and he had resolved to aid the next unlucky person who crossed his path. "I'm headed all the way up to Gravity Falls. It's 'bout a four hour drive from here, I reckon."

"Gravity Falls? Where's that?"

"It's up in Oregon. Nice place, too – 'least, that's what my friend was tellin' me. Forests, fresh air, and small town hospitality."

"Oregon, huh? Sounds good to me. At least, no worse than I was before." The hitchhiker paused for several moments before muttering under his breath, "Bastards stole my car."

"Stole your car?" asked Fiddleford, before realizing that he wasn't supposed to have heard that last bit. He plowed through regardless. "Shouldn't ya go to the police for that?"

The hitchhiker let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Let's just say that they're not my biggest fans." Great. He had possibly picked up a crazy ax-murderer on the run from the law. What was the best course of action? Fiddleford searched his brain frantically for answers. Perhaps he had been silent for longer than he had thought, because the hitchhiker said, "Yeesh. Don't give yourself a heart-attack, or you'll get us both killed. Heh. Don't worry, _I_ didn't kill nobody."

 _Ain't that a relief,_ Fiddleford thought, and the hitchhiker snorted. Great; he had said that aloud. Alright, Fiddleford… time to think of a plan. Keep your eyes on the road. Don't look behind you. Drive to Gravity Falls, and then get help. Stanford was a big fella too, wasn't he? "Betcha you did somethin' else to get in trouble with the police." Oh lord, oh lord – why could he not stop the words?

"It was no big deal. Ya con some suckers, smuggle some semi-illegal goods, and then every cop in California has an arrest warrant with your name on it. Figures the _one_ time I try to help someone out, I get in trouble."

"What – what were you doing to help someone out?"

"An 'ol acquaintance of mine got into a bit of trouble with some of our old buddies, and I had ta get him out of there before they made him take the big siesta. Got ratted out, though."

"So you weren't able to get him out, then?"

"No idea what happened to the guy." They sat in awkward silence after that, punctuated by the noisy engine and beeping of cars on the freeway. "Enough about me. You got a story? Why're you goin' to Gravity Falls?"

"I'm helpin' my old college roommate out with a project he's been workin' on up here. Can't say much about it, but it's never been done 'afore. It'll completely revolutionize our perception of our own universe, and the readin's for Gravity Falls makes it the most mathematically feasible place to do it." Fiddleford continued for about a minute, explaining the calculations Stanford had read to him about the area.

"So you're a nerd, huh?"

"Those who shall inherit the earth," said Fiddleford.

"Yeah, yeah." The hitchhiker took a breath as though to speak, then was quiet for a moment, as though wondering whether or not he should vocalize his next thought. "Almost bad as my brother."

"Where does your brother live?"

"Dunno. _Ma_ offered to tell me, but right now, I don't wanna know."

"I've got a little sister," offered Fiddleford. "We don't talk as much as we used to, but it's always nice to know where she is."

"Still keep in touch with your sister? Good for you," the hitchhiker grumbled.

Fiddleford took a deep breath, straightened his fingers, and gripped the wheel once more. "Perhaps what I said might not have been ideal. Theresa and I don't fight all the time, but for us, at least, eventually old wounds heal. She almost killed my son once, ya know."

"Did she?" The hitchhiker seemed eager enough to verge from the topic of his own brother.

"She gave him a cup of kool-aid, and left him in the room with a bottle of bleach. Mistook the bleach for kool-aid, and drank it – ya know what five-year-olds are like. Luckily, he was rushed to the hospital, but we told her plenty times before not to leave chemicals in his reach."

"Heh. Makes me glad _I_ don't have any kids to deal with. Seems like nothin' but trouble, let me tell you."

"Tate's wonderful. He and his ma are goin' to move to Gravity Falls if I stay there long 'nough. My sister made I mistake, but I forgave her, in the end."

"Yeah. Families forgivin' each other, puppies, rainbows, and unicorns and all that," said the man testily.

They sat in silence once more before Fiddleford made another rash decision. "Would – would ya like a place to stay, in Gravity Falls?"

"You think your friend would want a random stranger stayin' at his place, with your sciency mumbo-jumbo goin' down?"

"He's a reasonable man. I'm sure he wouldn't mind doin' someone a favor. At least for a couple a days."

"What's the catch?" the stranger asked after a moment. "I'll do anythin' to make a quick buck, but some things I ain't doin'." The unspoken _not again_ hung in the air.

"Consider it my good deed for the week, if I must get somethin' out of it," said Fiddleford. "But you're a man who's down on his luck, an' I don't mind helpin' a fellow like yourself." Fiddleford willfully ignored the fact that his passenger was a wanted criminal. He could deal with that tidbit later.

The hitchhiker seemed to consider it. "I'll take you up on that offer, then. Ya won't regret it! Ya know… you seem like a nice man, so I'm gonna give you some advice. Consider it a favor, for all the favors you're doin' me, and all that."

"Much obliged," said Fiddleford.

The hitchhiker plowed on. "You were talkin' about forgiveness, and doing favors. You even picked _me_ up, and I'm twice your size."

"We had agreed that you weren't going to murder me and make off with my possessions."

"No, I'm not gonna. You know how long I was standin' back there?"

"A while."

"I started in Sacramento, and escaped from my old buddies back in Red Bluff," the hitchhiker said. "I was walkin' for a while, and no one picked me up. Ya learn the hard way that people only look out for number one."

"I reckon that's a rather pessimistic way to view it," said Fiddleford.

"It's something I've learned over the years, along with how to scam an entire state, and how to stuff and entire grocery cart's worth of stuff into your jacket. It's just like how nature intended! Kick out your kids when they're old enough, and let them fight to survive."

Something familiar nagged in the back of Fiddleford's mind. "Was your brother kicked out of the house with you then?" The hitchhiker was silent. "I'm guessin' not."

"I was eighteen. And besides… there was an accident, an' I ruined my brother's future, or somethin' like that – couldn't get into this big, smarty-pants school. But maybe they'll be plenty of suckers in this 'Gravity Falls' place, and I'll make more money than Stanford ever could with his big, fancy degree."

Oh dear. Oh dear. Fiddleford was going to ask this man's name, considering that he invited him to stay for a while. But the story he told… down on his luck, good at conning people, homeless, ruined his brother's entire future… there was little doubt in Fiddleford's mind about who was in his backseat. "We'll be there in about two hours. An' I never introduced myself – I'm Fiddleford. I could see if there's anythin' on the radio, if you'd like."

"Stan. And sure, whatever."

"Let's see." Fiddleford twisted the dial, and a song came on the radio. Good. He liked this song.

Stanley Pines groaned. "You're a fan of country, aren't ya? Figures, with that accent." His Jersey accent was the same as Stanford's. How had Fiddleford missed that?

"Well, I'm the one drivin'."

"Can I drive, then? I don't have a license, but I won't get us pulled over. Probably."

"No can do," said Fiddleford. If knowing that the man in the backseat was Stanford's brother came with any consolation, it was that he was mostly harmless.

The two men spent the rest of the trip in relative silence. After a while, Fiddleford had figured that Stanley fell asleep.

When Fiddleford stopped at the Gravity Falls gas station, he opened Stan's door as well. ''Stanl –" right, he shouldn't know Stanley's full name.

Stanley sat up groggily, and Fiddleford got his first look at his face. The similarities between Stanley and his brother were remarkable – expected, of course, since they were twins. Stan had no cleft in his chin, however, and wore no glasses. He was also hairier than his brother, from the scruff on his face to the mullet that reached his shoulders. "Are we there yet?"

"We're at the gas station, 'cause I'm runnin' on empty. I thought you might like to stretch a bit."

Stanley groaned, but pulled his body out of the car. He stood on two legs like a newly-born deer, the way one stands if they have been sitting for too long. Fiddleford sympathized. "Alright, Fiddlesticks – how far away is your friend's house?"

"It's _Fiddleford._ Fiddleford Hadron McGucket. An' my friend lives somewhere that way in the woods." Fiddleford motioned to his left, and Stanley nodded. "It's not too far away."

"Think we can stop for lunch first? I'm starvin'."

Fiddleford looked at Stanley in sympathy, but Stanley determinately wasn't meeting his eyes. "I… can pick up a little somethin' when I go in to pay for gas."

Stanley nodded. "Wait a minute…" Stan reached into his coat pockets, but came out empty-handed. "Hah!" He then took off his shoe and reached inside, revealing a $10. "Didn't get this off of me, Jorge! Ya know, I think I can get somethin' for myself."

"It ain't no bother," said Fiddleford. "Save the 10 bucks; I'll get ya somethin'."

Stan seemed to consider Fiddleford's proposal. "I'll pay for half."

"Really, you don't have much money for yourself, and I'm assuming what ya did have was stolen. I can afford a few snacks."

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Fiddleford worried that he said something wrong – when talking to a homeless man, was it rude to mention your ability to easily buy food? The wrinkle in Stan's brow vanished and he reluctantly acquiesced. "Alright."

Five minutes later, Fiddleford emerged from the gas station with a soda and three slices of pizza. Stanley was standing near the car, kicking a loose piece of concrete back and forth, and Fiddleford was glad that he didn't suspect anything; he didn't want Stanford's brother running off. Stanley grinned and waved when he saw Fiddleford.

"Thanks," Stanley said, taking the food. Fiddleford took note of his hands – large, like Stanford's, but with only five fingers each.

Fiddleford looked back towards the gas station, seeing a woman emerge with several bottles of soda and a candy bar stuffed in her mouth. "Why don't we get goin' then," he said nervously. Could he pull this reunion off?

Stanley, happy to have food, didn't question it. "Lot more than I've had in days."

"Don't mention it. But when we get there, do ya mind waitin' in the car. I just wanna explain the situation to my friend."

The only noises Fiddleford heard in response were the sounds of eating, but he saw Stanley nodding in confirmation.

Stanford's house was indeed in the middle of the woods, and took the form of a large, wooden shack. Fiddleford supposed there was a certain charm to it. A large satellite was positioned in the front. Fiddleford parked, facing away from the house, and got out, hoping that Stanford was home.

"Wait here," he told Stan. He then walked up to the front door and knocked.

Stanford Pines, sitting at his kitchen table and shading in an amulet in his journal, heard a knock at the door and rose to open it. The knocking was rather insistent - the visitor knocked about ten times before Ford was able to reach the door and greet his visitor. He had a decent idea of who it was – not many residents Gravity Falls came to visit the resident reclusive scientist. Not the human ones, at least. "Hello? Who's there – ah! Fiddleford."

"Hullo, Stanford." Fiddleford greeted him with a wide smile and crinkling bright blue eyes. Fiddleford appeared more mature than the last time Ford saw him, his eyes lined with wrinkles and a sharper haircut than the one he sported in college. "It's nice seein' you again."

"Agreed," Ford said, stepping through the doorframe to embrace Fiddleford, who wrapped his arms around Ford's waist. For a skinny, unassuming man, Fiddleford gave surprisingly strong hugs. Ford pulled away, and gestured inside. "It's been too long, old friend. Come in! I can't wait to show you the research."

"It sounded very interestin' over the phone."

"It's _fascinating_. I've been studying the wildlife here for years, and I could stay here several more and still not glimpse all the anomalies."

"A higher concentration than any in the world," said Fiddleford, quoting Ford had remarked – several times – over the phone.

"Precisely. And the portal will be the culmination of all that work – why the supernatural exists here in such excess. I figured that you were the right mind to discuss its construction with."

Fiddleford's enthusiasm was tinged with nervousness at the edge of his demeanor. "So you're lettin' me stay here, right?" he asked.

"Of course. There are several places, but I think you'll find the attic most comfortable. Now with your wife and son –"

"I might get a place a my own 'round then," Fiddleford said. "An' let's not get too ahead a ourselves… there's still some calculations I wanna see, first."

"Of course. What's the matter, Fidds?"

As always, Fiddleford was an open book. As soon as Fiddleford answered, Stanford regretted taking a look at the pages. "I was wonderin' if you spoke to Stanley lately."

Ford's grin faded. "You know we haven't spoken in nearly ten years."

"I've just been thinkin' about me an' Theresa an' all… and we had a bit of a tiffy. We haven't spoken in a while. If ya had the _chance_ to speak to Stanley again, would you?"

Ford sighed, but knew Fiddleford had the best intentions. He knew, better than anyone sans Ma, how difficult it was for Ford to speak about his brother – it was not until after they became close friends that Ford went into detail about the conflict. "I – I suppose that we left things on such bad terms…"

"But you were just kids then," said Fiddleford.

"Eighteen. Technically adults."

"Yes – well, back to the subject of workin' on the machine. While we're doin' that, don't you think that it might be a good idea to have someone else around, to maybe help out?"

Ford looked at him in disbelief. "I don't think you understand how _dangerous_ this work is. The less people we drag into it, the better, much less a random stranger from town!"

"I'm not sayin' they necessarily have to work on the machine. Perhaps they could take care of the place – it's a bit messy, from what I can see."

"Dangerous work, Fiddleford! We can't risk anyone stumbling upon it. It may be a bit messy here, but we can handle it."

"Look, he'll be _my_ responsibility," Fiddleford insisted.

"He? Fiddleford – what's going on?"

"I may or may not have picked up a hitchhiker."

"And you want a random hitchhiker to work with us?" Ford said incredulously, and felt a brief twinge of regret at asking Fiddleford to work on the project. Didn't he just stress its danger and magnitude?

Fiddleford pressed on nevertheless. "Alright, it might've been a rash decision on my part."

"Just maybe."

"But he's homeless, Ford. He's practically broke, and says he can usually get a decent meal 'round three times a week. He just lost his car – to some drug lord, I reckon – an' he's got nowhere to go."

Ford looked at Fiddleford's pleading face – it was rather good, and had once even won him a re-roll for damage in _Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons._ "You don't think he's dangerous."

"Cross my heart. The man's twice my size, an' he didn't even try ta kill me once."

"I don't exactly consider that reassuring."

"A _week_ , Stanford."

Ford nodded reluctantly, knowing that Fiddleford would continue bothering him. "One week. And if I find that this man is a danger to my work, he'll leave." Ford extended a hand, and Fiddleford took it.

"Deal."

Ford heard the door creak open. "Aw, shoot! I told him to wait in the car, but I guess he got impatient."

"Yeesh… leavin' the door unlocked; this is my kinda place! Just askin' for guys like me to come on in. Hey – Fiddlenerd! Didja talk to your friend yet? Where are ya?"

Ford tensed up. He would recognize that voice anywhere. But – it couldn't be. Fiddleford looked at him guiltily, and Stanford knew why he had brought up the subject of his brother so abruptly. "You didn't."

Fiddleford replied to Stan. "We're in the kitchen – he said you could stay for a few days."

"I have business to attend to in the basement –" began Ford, but Fiddleford grabbed his arm, the bastard.

Stanford couldn't pull away in time, and he was treated to Stan's surprised face in the doorway. "Hey, I'm Stan – Oh."

"Hello, Stanley," Ford replied coolly.

"Stanford. So you're livin' in Oregon now, huh." Stan rubbed the back of his neck. "Got a big grant and everything."

"I need to go lock up my car," said Fiddleford, exiting the room before either brother could stop him. _Bastard_ , thought Ford.

"Did you speak to Mom – is that how you knew I was here?" asked Ford. Why had he not considered it before? Gigi Pines was a renowned conwoman – of course she had been talking to Stan, even after she stopped mentioning his name.

"Yeah, I still talk to Ma. She worries, ya know?" Stan shrugged. "She mentioned you got a big fancy award, but not where you were livin' – swear on her grave. Your friend gave me a lift and offered me a place to stay – I didn't know it was with you."

"Fiddleford and I were college roommates, and we stayed in contact long after," Ford said.

"He, uh, mentioned. But look at it this way – I can make sure ya stay out of trouble! For Ma, and all that." Stan looked at him hopefully, and Ford was annoyed to find his resolve crumble. "Of couse, I don't need a place to stay – there are plenty of great places out here! While you've been at that boring school, I've been travelin'."

Fiddleford had mentioned 'homeless.' Was his brother's situation really all that bad? There was a small, dark part of Ford that felt vindicated that Stan had suffered some hardship – he himself had to work to correct Stan's mistake – but a twinge of guilt blossomed in his gut. "I – I see. The problem is, Stanley, that the work Fiddleford and I are doing is quite dangerous."

"I'll stay away from your nerd project," Stan promised.

 _Like you did last time_? Ford thought. "Just… don't go in the basement. I _mean_ it. And leave us alone when we're working."

Stan grinned nervously, and Ford had to struggle not to smile back. It had been so long. "Gravity Falls is a dangerous place, so you should probably stay away from the woods, as well. My studies have shown that the supernatural _is_ real, and you should know how to deal with it before confronting it."

"Supernatural? Like what – puny little fairies and gnomes?"

"Fairies know some nasty spells. And a feral gnome is a danger to everyone who encounters it."

Stan looked like Ford was pulling his leg. "So I can stay, then?"

Fiddleford walked in, looking like the cat who got the cream. "I already promised Fiddleford I'd let you live here for a week," Ford said.

"At least," said Fiddleford, and Stan turned around to look at him.

"At least," echoed Ford.

"I remember passin' a diner on the way in. Have you eaten yet, Stanford?" Fiddleford asked.

"I suppose you mean Greasy's Diner. I don't get out a lot –"

"Nonsense, Poindexter! Ya can't stay with your musty old books and fairies forever."

"Alright, we'll take Fiddleford's car, then. A tree stole mine when I arrived here – well, more like crushed it – so I can't drive."

"I'll drive – ya already drove me here. Yoink!" Stan grabbed Fiddleford's keys out of his hand, running outside toward the car.

"Shotgun!" Fiddleford called after him cheerfully. He then turned to Ford. "Is your brother a good driver? Because he said that he lost his license."

"He was always better at it than me," Ford said. "And you'd better hurry if you want to drive. Stanley can be rather… persistent."

 _Looks like a family reunion here,_ said Bill in his mind. _Mind if I say hello to dear Stanley?_

Ford thought about how much he _didn't_ want to deal with his brother right now, but he couldn't let Bill's presence be known. At least not yet – perhaps never. _I'd prefer to deal with this on my own. But thank you, Bill_.

 _My pleasure, Sixer!_ Sixer. That was Stanley's nickname for him. Now that Stanley and Bill were in the same location, there was something off about the nickname. _Well, now don't keep them waiting!_

"Ford?" asked Fiddleford, shaking Ford from his conversation with Bill. "Are you okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine."

Fiddleford remained concerned. "If – if you're sure. You were zonin' out, and I think your eyes looked different for a few seconds."

They had? Interesting – he would have to look more into the physical effects of Bill's possession on the human body. "I'm just… thinking. Anyways, let's head over to Greasy's Diner!"

Fiddleford smiled. "That's the spirit."

Outside, Stan had pulled the car up to the front of the house. "'C'mon!" he said. Fiddleford and Ford both got into the car, the former taking the front passenger seat and the latter sitting in the back. Stan immediately turned on the radio, slamming the dashboard when he received nothing but static.

It was the start of _something_ , Ford decided as Stan pulled out into the road. Hopefully something good.

* * *

This story was originally posted to my AO3 account in 2015. I'm not writing more, so imagine for yourself what happens next. Thanks for reading!


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